


A forest of stars

by olympia_m



Series: Between two places [15]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series, 闇の末裔 | Yami No Matsuei | Descendants of Darkness
Genre: M/M, this passes for rom-com in my world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 02:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympia_m/pseuds/olympia_m
Summary: The one where there is still no plot, only characters doing things (and talking).





	A forest of stars

**Author's Note:**

> There is a word in Greek for what's been happening to me and my constant attempts to end this series of fics, but it doesn't translate well - nor is there an equivalent. Anyway, I'm indulging myself shamelessly here... and I can't even say when I'll stop... 
> 
> Takes place after all the previous ficlets - if this continues, it will go forward from here.

After what had happened last time Feilong visited Oriya, Asami was glad that Oriya had decided to meet him at Tokyo. He wasn’t so glad that this also meant being invited by Muraki for dinner on the second day of Feilong’s visit. He couldn’t find any information on what the doctor was like, apart some information about his studies and medical work. No one was this clean, unless someone had cleaned their record. 

“I hate this house,” Takaba told him quietly as Mori parked. “It’s like something from a horror film. Old, secluded, creepy.” He shuddered. “If I believed in ghosts, I’d expect to find some here.”

Asami nodded. “Ready?”

“I guess.” 

“I’ll call you when we’re done,” Asami told Mori as they got out of the car. 

They walked to the house. Before Asami could knock, the door opened noiselessly, and Muraki’s old butler greeted them with a bow. What was his name? Kanaki? Samaki? “Come in. The Master is expecting you.”

“Horror film,” Takaba muttered. “Secondary character; the villain’s right hand.”

“Renfield to Dracula?”

“Exactly.”

Asami smirked. “As long as you’re not Lucy.”

“With my luck?” Takaba laughed. 

The butler guided them through the house giving no indication that he was listening. He finally opened a door that led to a huge conservatory that looked straight out of the 19th century. None of the furniture were modern, there was a marble fountain topped with a bronze statue of a naked nymph in the centre, and there were more plants than in any contemporary conservatory. Chopin was playing softly in the background. 

“Pretentious much?” Takaba whispered.

“More likely family that had money once and now can’t afford to change anything.”

“Or maybe it’s sentimentality,” Muraki told Asami with a smile that turned rueful. “Grandfather liked this room exactly how Grandmama had left it. I could not bear to change it.”

“Besides, it’s charming as it is,” Ukyou smiled gently from behind a potted camellia. She cut a perfect white flower and offered it to Takaba. “Here, I think it suits you.” 

“Ah, thank you.” Takaba looked like he didn’t know what to do with the thing. 

Ukyou laughed, took it from his hands and put it behind Takaba’s ear. “There.”

Takaba blushed. “Erm… Thanks?”

“It does suit you,” he whispered to his lover, giving him a quick kiss as they followed Ukyou towards the chairs. 

Takaba glared at him. 

“Just keep it until dinner,” he whispered.

“I’m not stupid enough to insult my crazy host,” Takaba whispered back.

Asami laughed. 

“Would you like a drink?” Muraki pointed towards a well-stocked bar half-hidden behind a couple of orange trees. 

“Do you have some beer?”

Muraki grimaced at Takaba’s words, but then he smiled. “I’m certain we have something. Sakaki?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Beer for my guest here. Asami?”

“Scotch, straight.”

“Any preferences?” 

“Surprise me.”

Muraki grinned like a satisfied cat. He chose a bottle and showed it to Asami. “Will this do?”

Asami nodded, his curiosity rising. Vintage, 16-year Lagavulin that probably cost more than all the clothes on Takaba’s back and then some. A man of taste, but of declining wealth, he decided. Marrying into the Sakuraiji family would probably help restore his family’s wealth. A clever, calculating man. 

Muraki offered the glass to Asami and then poured some for himself. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” he lied. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Muraki laughed. “You’re only here because of Takaba,” he said, glancing at him talking animatedly to Ukyou at the other side of the room, beer in hand.

Asami studied him. “Good to see you haven’t suddenly turned into a decent being. I wouldn’t know what to do with you in that case.”

“I’m certain you’d think of something.” Muraki glanced back at Ukyou, and then pressed his hand against Asami’s thigh. “That is a gun in your pocket, isn’t it? Shame.”

Asami grimaced. “In front of your own wife?”

“She’s busy with Takaba,” Muraki smiled. He reached for Asami again, but this time someone grabbed his hand. Asami took a step back, surprised at not having seen Oriya move at all. 

“Don’t molest the guests,” Oriya hissed. 

Feilong appeared behind Oriya. “Yes, where are your manners?”

“In the trunk, next to ambiguity.” Muraki turned and hugged Oriya. “Will you beat me up if I keep misbehaving?”

“No.”

“Pity. I miss your anger. You come alive when you’re mad.”

“There are other ways to feel alive, Muraki,” Oriya said, clearly annoyed. 

“You’ll have to keep trying to teach me, then,” Muraki said almost too softly; Asami only heard him because he was still standing next to the maniac. 

“I guess I will,” Oriya replied just as softy, and then pushed Muraki away. “Don’t I get a drink? Feilong, whisky?”

“Yes, please.”

Oriya picked up a closed bottle of Karuizawa whisky. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Muraki grinned. “You know, it’s the one you gave me for my birthday when I was eighteen.”

“I feel strangely offended now.”

“No, at eighteen I knew I couldn’t appreciate it, and then there never was the right time.” He put the glass with the Lagavulin down and picked up an empty glass. “Pour me some too.”

“Shouldn’t you keep it as an investment? Its price will double in a year.”

Oriya waited for Muraki’s answer with his hand on the top. 

“Maybe, but will this moment come again? I’ve had this bottle waiting for me for so long, isn’t time I tried it?”

Oriya opened it. It smelled subtly of fruit, and its colour was a rich amber in the light. He suddenly smiled, embarrassed. “How inappropriate a gift for an eighteen year old.”

“But not for men halfway through the path of life. Pour us some, Oriya.”

“Put that down, Asami. Trust me, this is better than anything Scottish.”

Asami wasn’t sure about that. Then again, he’d never tried Karuizawa. When he was young whisky was an old man’s drink, and he couldn’t afford it anyway. Now, he thought that even as an investment whisky made little sense. Art works were safer. He put his glass down.

Oriya offered them some soda water first. “Cleanse your palate,” he ordered. 

Muraki rolled his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

“You’re right, though,” Asami said. He sipped and swirled the water in his mouth. He took another sip, letting it chase away all remnants of peat and smoke over his tongue. 

Oriya gave the first glass to Feilong, the second to Asami, and the third to Muraki. “Happy belated birthday,” he toasted him with his own glass. 

Muraki looked down, frowning. “My eighteenth birthday,” he sighed. 

“It was better than your sixteenth,” Oriya said, looking like he tried to comfort him. 

“Yes, so true,” he grinned. He smelled the whisky. “Why did I wait so long to try this?”

“You were clearly waiting for me,” Asami snorted.

“There’s your answer,” Oriya nodded with a smile.

Feilong took a sip. “Oh, this IS good,” he moaned. 

Muraki tried it. “Yes,” he sighed happily, eyes closing in pleasure. 

Asami watched Oriya watching them indulgently. He took a sip, and there was tobacco, and honey, and orange, and vanilla, and more flavours than he could identify. He took a deep breath, taking in more vanilla and tobacco. “It is good,” he nodded.

“Of course it is.”

Asami snorted. “You charge by the glass for this at Kokakurou, don’t you?”

Oriya nodded. 

“Ha,” Muraki laughed. “Did you steal this,” he asked pointing at the bottle, “from your father’s cellar? You delinquent, you.”

“What?” Oriya was flustered. “Of course not. How can…”

Muraki elbowed him. “Just teasing you.” He smiled softly. “Really. Thank you for your most excellent and suitable gift.”

The music ended. 

“Should we go for dinner or do you feel like Saint-Saens first?” Ukyou asked. 

“Saint-Saens,” Muraki answered, moving the whisky gently around. “I’m not moving before I finish this,” he whispered. “And maybe have some more.”

“Good idea,” Feilong agreed. 

&*&*

Dinner was surprisingly good. Either Ukyou’s skills had improved, or they had hired a cook. Asami suspected it was the latter. It was also surprisingly peaceful. In front of both Ukyou and Oriya Muraki was actually behaving like a decent human being. Asami really didn’t know what to think of that. 

There was more whisky at the conservatory after dessert and dessert wine had been served. Between the four of them they had finished the Karuizawa. Muraki had insisted. “It was meant for this evening,” he had told them with authority. 

Feilong would definitely blame the whisky the next day, Asami smiled. He was seated cross-legged on the sofa with Ukyou behind him, who petted his hair.

“I think it’s as soft as Oriya’s, but darker. Your hair is just so black,” she gushed. 

Feilong closed his eyes, smiling at her praise. 

“Can I braid it?”

“Yes, why not?”

Ukyou made a move as if to hug him, and then pulled back. “Oriya doesn’t let me.”

“Silly Oriya,” Feilong grinned.

“Yes, very silly,” Ukyou agreed as she started dividing Feilong’s hair into neat strands. 

“Tao braids my hair sometimes,” Feilong confided.

Asami smiled. Feilong was definitely already drunk. He looked away from them, and towards the glass doors leading outside. Oriya and Muraki were there smoking, two thin, dark shapes with red marks about them when they moved their cigarettes. He couldn’t decide if they had been lovers in the past or not; their closeness was marked by longing even now. He shrugged, and turned his gaze towards Takaba. 

Takaba was going through the CD collection, staring at the CDs as if they held some great mystery. Wearing those vintage jeans really accentuated Takaba’s ass when he crouched. Asami grinned. He shouldn’t be thinking sexy thoughts about his lover in Muraki’s house, but he couldn’t help it. That ass looked spectacular. 

Perhaps he too was a little drunk. 

“It’s all classical,” Takaba complained when Asami went next to him. “Boring.”

“I’m certain there is something here that even you will like.” He knelt next to him and started looking. “How about…” He put Orff’s Carmina Burana back as soon as he took it out of the shelf. He couldn’t explain it, but the atmosphere was peaceful; Orff was just too loud for that. “Maybe…” No, not Chopin again. Or Liszt. Definitely not Wagner. In a bottom corner Asami spotted a number of CDs that might work. “This,” he said, taking out Five Tango Sensations. 

“Tango?”

“Yes, don’t you think it would be appropriate for now?”

Takaba frowned. “You sound like Oriya.” He smiled. “Okay, let’s try this.” He put the CD on. 

The first piece started off slowly, plaintively even. It did feel like the right thing to play on this quiet point in time. Asami sat down and a moment later Takaba burrowed next to him. 

“No, this won’t do,” Ukyou suddenly said, sounding upset. 

Asami opened his eyes. Feilong, hair half-braided, had fallen off the couch in surprise. Definitely drunk.

Her voice brought Muraki and Oriya back. “What is it?” they both asked.

“That’s too sad. We’re celebrating tonight, aren’t we?” 

Asami turned the music off. 

Ukyou smiled at him. “But you’re right, it is the music for tonight. Just not that.” 

Muraki grinned. “I have just the thing,” he said, rushing out of the room.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me,” Oriya whispered. 

“Please? For me?” Ukyou widened her eyes dramatically. “Please?”

Oriya looked at her strangely. “You know you don’t have to beg.” He smiled at her. “But I’m out of practice. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“But it will be like old times,” she said, eyes still wide and pleading.

“Or the like the eighteenth birthday I should have had,” Muraki said with a grin, carrying a guitar with him.

Oriya blinked. “It was here all this time?”

“You left it here when you finished college. Had you forgotten?” He smiled. “You said your father would burn it, so it was safer here.”

“Oh.” Oriya took the guitar from Muraki and hugged it. “Yes, I remember now.” He sat at the sofa, next to Feilong. “Let’s see.” He started tuning it. “I think I’ve forgotten how to play,” he said, listening to the sounds he was producing.

“Just think of how you helped me practice for my dance competitions,” Ukyou said. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just good enough for me,” she said with a very sweet smile.

Oriya’s gaze said that only perfection would be enough for Ukyou. Then he whispered something to Feilong. 

“No, no,” Feilong laughed. He hit Oriya with the edges of his braid. “Silly Oriya.”

“You’re so drunk, Feilong,” Oriya laughed. 

Feilong hugged him. “Yes. Now, play.” He kissed him. “Please.” 

“Please?” Muraki asked with a smile. 

“Let’s see, what do I remember?” He started playing something slow and sad, and vaguely melancholic. A day in November. A classic. 

Asami closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. There were a few moments where Oriya sounded hesitant or seemed to miss the notes, but a good performance on the whole. Especially for someone who probably hadn’t played a guitar in a while.

The next piece was…

“I know that,” Takaba whispered, “it was in that film with Al Pacino. Oh, look,” he elbowed Asami. 

Muraki and Ukyou were staring at each other. Then he offered her his hand. Ukyou took it, and then.

“Can you believe that? He can dance. She can dance.” 

Her footwork was nimble. Muraki was good, but he was there so she could move around him, and twirl, and lean on him. She was interesting to watch; unlike other tango dancers, she wasn’t trying to be sexy, but she was graceful. Every time Muraki touched her, she blushed, and smiled in wonder. 

“They’ve done this before,” Takaba whispered. “They’re very good together.”

When it was finished Takaba clapped. 

Ukyou bowed, with a smile. “This brings back memories,” she laughed. “Thank you, Oriya.”

He started playing something else. Definitely by Piazzola but Asami couldn’t remember the title at that moment. It was sadder, like morning fog. 

Ukyou tapped Muraki on the shoulder and they started dancing again. 

Takaba swayed next to him. “I want to dance too.”

“Alright.” He started getting up,. 

Takaba pulled him down. “No, that’s wrong.”

“What? Only men and women can dance the tango? You know that at first it was thought too indecent for men and women to dance it together, and so only men danced it?”

“Really? But still, it’s weird now.”

As the piece ended, Asami stood up. “Takaba,” he said, offering his hand. 

At the first strains of Libertango Takaba took it. Asami pulled him up and against him, putting his hand on the small of Takaba’s back. “I can lead, or not.”

“Not,” Takaba said, and Asami moved his hand to Takaba’s shoulder. “But I haven’t danced this in years.”

“Then do follow me,” Asami smiled. He took a step forward, and then another, making Takaba go backwards. “Something easy,” Asami said, as he twisted to the left. Takaba followed. “And turn again. And again. And again. And back now.” Takaba moved forward as he moved back. “And turn. I’ll put my leg between yours and then move, and then you do the same.”

Takaba smiled. “Just turn.”

“Okay, turn.”

“And turn, and turn, and leg?”

Asami opened his legs a little more so that Takaba could put his in between and then move swiftly back. 

“Ha, this is fun,” Takaba laughed, eyes sparkling. “Turn.”

As the music swelled Asami held Takaba close and let him go. Takaba held on to his hand, twisted around and came back to him. He put his leg up on Asami’s thigh, grabbed him, and almost kissed him. Then he remembered where he was, pulled away, and laughed. “Turn.”

They probably weren’t as graceful as Muraki and Ukyou, but Takaba was enjoying himself, and he was doing something new with his lover, so that was exciting. Perhaps too exciting. He felt himself harden at Takaba’s proximity, the feel of his lover’s tight, twisting body in his arms, the laughter in his eyes. 

“Turn, and turn,” Takaba commanded, and Asami was only too happy to obey.

Asami twirled him one more time, but this time Takaba stepped behind him when he was done and hugged his back. Then he moved back into the circle of Asami’s arms. “Back,” he said, “and turn,” he laughed.

When the piece ended, Ukyou clapped. “That was beautiful,” she said, looking as dreadfully honest as always. Muraki was staring at her. 

Feilong, curled behind Oriya, looked at them approvingly. Oriya was smiling, gaze sliding between them and Feilong. He put his guitar down. “You’re about to fall asleep, Feilong. We’re going back to the hotel.”

“Sleep here. Your room is always ready,” Muraki said. “And there’s a spare room for you too,” he said looking at Asami. 

“No, I’d rather go home,” Takaba said. “No offence, I sleep better in my bed.”

“Your bed?” Asami smirked.

“Fine, our bed.” 

“As you wish,” Ukyou said, smiling. “However, you are welcome here.”

Asami nodded. “Thank you. It’s greatly appreciated. I’ll see you soon?” He really wanted to continue exploring tango moves with Takaba. He took out his phone and called Mori. “He’ll meet us at the entrance in two minutes.”

Oriya was struggling to keep Feilong upright. 

“Just sleep here,” Muraki said as he went to help Oriya. “He’s…”

“Not sleepy yet,” Feilong said, grinning. He pulled himself up, and kissed Oriya’s cheek. “Don’t you dance, Oriya? Do you always watch? How sad.”

Oirya looked away, embarrassed. 

“That is sad,” Takaba said. “I know a place where we can dance.”

“Yes, dance,” Feilong grinned. He moved from Oriya to Takaba and grabbed him by the waist. “What kind of dance?”

Takaba started swaying together with Feilong. “Modern dance. Yay.” 

Ukyou hid her giggle behind her hand. Muraki smirked. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Oriya muttered. 

“Think he’ll pass out or throw up first?” Asami asked Oriya. “Come on, by the time I drive you to the hotel he will have passed out and Takaba will have calmed down.”

“No, let’s go dancing. It’s still early, old man.”

Feilong groaned, and disengaged himself from Takaba, still swaying slightly. 

“Please, don’t throw up on the carpet,” Muraki begged him. 

“Yes, not on the carpet,” Ukyou added.

Oriya hugged Feilong, who looked distinctly pale. “Ah. I think he won’t manage the drive. Sakaki, a bucket, now?”

“Look at that, Mori is here,” Asami said, pushing Takaba towards the door. “Thank you for the lovely evening. I’ll see you soon,” he said as he got out. 

“Vomit, ewww,” Takaba said. “Hey, Mori really is here. Let’s go dancing.”

Asami pushed him inside the car. “Back home, Mori.”

“But, Asami…”

Asami pulled Takaba close to him and started kissing him. With a little luck, Takaba would be too distracted by thoughts of sex soon to care about dancing. He put his hand over Takaba’s crotch and started stroking him, just to make sure that Takaba would only have sex in his mind. Just for that. 

&*&*

It must have been before noon when Feilong managed to crawl out of bed, head pounding, legs not quite moving, and when did hair start growing on his tongue? There were two painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand next to his side of the bed, so he took them. Oriya was nowhere to be seen. He obviously had to find him. Or breakfast. Or both?

“Hello, Sakaki.”

“Hello, Liu-sama. Mibu-sama is in the conservatory.”

“Thank you. Can you bring breakfast there?”

“Lunch will be served in half an hour.”

Feilong smiled at the way he was put in his place. “Some tea, then? Or, better yet, coffee?” 

“Of course.”

He opened the door as quietly as possible, cursing under his breath at the light that was streaming through the glass windows. And then stopped in his tracks. 

Oriya was standing as still as a statue while Ukyou was trying to demonstrate the first step of the tango. He put his foot forward. 

“No, no, Ori-kun, you have to move your waist as you move.”

“Can we stop now? I can’t dance like this. It requires a different body movement. I can only dance traditional Japanese.”

“And weirdly when you’re high,” Muraki said from the floor, next to the shelves with the CDs.

“It was just that one time.”

“And that time when we went into that abandoned shrine and I thought you’d been possessed?”

“I had been.”

“I thought you were high. I still say you were. Hadn’t you had mushrooms on the way there? I remember!”

“That’s not helping, Kazu-kun,” Ukyou sighed. “It’s a dance, not a fight. You have to relax,” she told Oriya.

“I am relaxed.”

“But it is sad that you don’t dance. Don’t you want to dance with Feilong?” Ukyou said with a blush. 

“If I do, or when I do, it will be different.”

“How?”

“To begin with, I don’t think we’ll be dancing the tango.”

“Why?”

“Do you really want me to answer that, Ukyou?” Oriya asked, smirking. 

“No, you don’t,” Muraki cut off whatever reply Ukyou was about to make. “Tango is not the sexiest dance for nothing,” he added, and Ukyou’s blush deepened.

“Ah, I guess. Sometimes I forget that…”

Oriya caressed the top of Ukyou’s head. “No, Ukyou. Everyone is different, and it’s fine to be as you are.”

“Even when I … don’t…” she looked at Muraki helplessly. “Even so?”

Oriya made a gesture, Muraki another, and then Oriya knelt and hugged Ukyou. “Even so,” he assured her. 

Muraki finally moved and hugged Ukyou from behind. His hand rested on Oriya’s nape. “Even so.”

Feilong would not be jealous. 

Muraki looked up, saw him, and winked. He caressed Oriya, and then removed his hand. “I love you as you are, Ukyou,” he said, smiling as Oriya relinquished her in his arms. He covered her with his body. 

“Ah, I should check on Feilong.”

“I think he’s fine,” Muraki said, pointing towards him with his eyebrows. “Perhaps a little jealous?”

Feilong narrowed his eyes. “No. I want coffee first, and then I’ll deal with what I saw.”  
Sakaki brought the coffee at exactly that point. He left the tray on a table and left quietly. 

“What you saw…” Oriya sighed. “Just wait a minute, okay? Muraki?”

Muraki snorted, but stood up after a second and guided Ukyou away. 

Feilong sat down, poured some coffee, and waited for it to cool a little. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere; he might as well wait for Oriya. And waited. 

A moment after the door closed he heard music. A wind instrument he couldn’t recognize, a violin, sad, sad, so sad. A voice came next, a brilliant mezzosoprano that seemed to cry as her voice rose. 

Oriya pulled him close, and held him by the waist. He took a step backwards, dragging Feilong with him, and hiding his face on the crook on Feilong’s shoulder. He swayed a little, and when the cello started, he took a deep breath that Feilong felt resonating inside him. Another step back, and then another, and even though it was almost noon, Feilong thought the light was dimmer. 

During the second verse, he realized that Oriya was breathing with the music, moving imperceptibly. Feilong moved with him, his body thick and heavy and weighted down, not just mortal, but trapped. Bound by thick ropes that wouldn’t give and made breathing difficult. And backwards they went, ever so slowly as that wind instrument echoed the singer’s last note, a single, desolate cry that resisted all comfort. 

When the – oh, god, it was one of those Armenian laments Oriya kept telling him about, wasn’t it? – when that ended, Oriya released him. 

The second piece started. He couldn’t take another lament. “Please, turn that off.”

Oriya did. 

When he came back, the coffee was moderately warm, and Feilong took a sip. Waiting. 

“Muraki and Ukyou, you know I loved them. I may love them still, but not like then. Not like I love you,” Oriya told him.

Feilong nodded. “I know. I would be stupid if I didn’t know that. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t get annoyed when Muraki touches you, claiming you.”

“He never did. It’s just an act.”

Feilong knew this was important, but his headache was not letting him understand it fully. “I’m not jealous,” he repeated. 

“I’m glad,” Oriya told him with a brilliant smile. 

“And that? The lament?”

“That’s how I dance. Backwards. In the dark. Slowly. If you ever want me to dance with you, you’ll have to teach me.”

Feilong frowned. He shouldn’t be having this discussion with a hangover. “That’s a metaphor for something.”

“No,” Oriya laughed. “I honestly can’t dance. If you ever want to make me, you’ll have to be very patient with me. Or get me high.” 

“That can be arranged,” Feilong smiled. 

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“You are a very strange man, Mibu Oriya.” But what good were normal people anyway? They bored him. He rubbed his arms where he’d felt ropes bite into his skin. That had been…

“Mibu-sama, Liu-sama, lunch is served,” Sakaki cut off his thought. 

“Ah, thank you.”

Feilong stood up slowly. There had been a thought about strangeness but he couldn’t remember what it was. Whatever. It would come back to him when he was fully sober. “I could do with some food.”

Oriya hugged him as he walked out of the conservatory. Lending him his support, more likely, Feilong smiled. He leaned on him. “Even here, you make a house a home,” he whispered into Oriya’s chest.

Oriya hugged him more tightly for a moment. If only his enemies could see him now. He snorted. He’d kill them if they did. Life didn’t have to be complicated. His lover at his side, food, and then bed. The rest could wait.


End file.
